The Life Of John Smith
by MrsBoreanaz1
Summary: AU John Smith isn't normal; he can see what won't happen, the infinite possibilities of a single event. It's a curse that drives him crazy, to the point where he decides he must die. Only to meet the one woman who is a complete mystery to him.
1. Prologue

**Title: **The Life Of John Smith

**Rating: T+ **(for now)

**Pairing: **River Song/ Eleventh Doctor (John Smith)

**Genre: **Angst/Romance

**Summary: (AU)** John Smith is not like normal people, he can see what won't happen, the infinite possibilities of a single event. It's a curse that drives him crazy, to the point where he decides he must die, only to meet the one woman whose life is a complete mystery to him.

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**The Life Of John Smith**

**Prologue**

My name is John Smith. Ordinary enough sounding name eh?

But I'm not ordinary, ordinary people see the present when they step out their front door, they see it as it is happening,

_'Mr Hall is walking his dog, that kid over there is riding his scooter.'_

Now, when a psychic steps out his front door, he sees the future, what will happen.

_'the kid with the scooter will crash into Mr Hall'_

I am neither.

I see what will never happen, the thousands of possibilities of that one event.

When I step out my door the kid avoids Mr Hall and scoots around off the pavement. In that same moment he's doing several other things as well, hitting a lamp post, running over the dog, getting hit by _a car._

Now imagine having to live with that, every day of your life, only ever seeing what won't happen, and not just the bad, but the joys of life as well.

The marriages that are only ever going to be relationships, the relationships that will stay friendships. The friendships that will remain as just two strangers on a crowded street.

I see all of that. I always have.

Until the day I met her, River Song.

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_**Winter Solstice, 2010**_

Snow falls gently on the ground outside, covering the bare earth of a quiet suburb.

It's the early hours of the morning, the cosy moments when a wife would press her body against her husband in an effort to keep warm, when a dog would clamber into the safety of a little boys bed, when a teenager finally puts away their phone and drifts off to sleep.

For John Smith, today is none of that.

This is his last day on Earth.

He showers at half past five that morning, as per normal, slipping into his freshly pressed black trousers and buttoning up his shirt. John throws on his favourite long green coat to banish the cold away as he winds his colourful scarf around his neck.

He doesn't stop to have breakfast; he always stops around the corner for coffee instead.

John reaches for his car keys, lying abandoned on the kitchen table and then decides against it.

He looks up, taking in the sight of his house instead.

It has everything a normal person has, sofa, coffee table, rug, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a laundry and a living room.

Only one thing is notably absent...mirrors.

When he was five, he remembers his mother forcing him in front of one in order to brush his hair.

The curse, it turned out, worked on reflections as well.

He couldn't bear to see all of that. He couldn't bear to see it now. He'd thought at the time that he was seeing the future, but what really happened was much worse anyway.

With a final glance at his house, John strides to the front door and opens it, taking a deep breathe, his lungs getting a blast of frigid air that he so badly needed right then.

John slams the door behind him. The house groans back in reply, already mourning the loss of it's owner.

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_**note:** next chapter will be longer I promose! :) _

**_All reviews are welcome!_ **


	2. Chapter one

_**A/N:** ok guys first chapter, I'm so nervous to post this, hope you all enjoy it_

_also look out for a little classic who reference ;) _

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**Chapter One:** **Fate Decrees All**

John pauses outside, leaning his back against the faded blue door which creaks under his weight.

He closes his eyes and pictures things how they used to be. When the paint wasn't peeling from the weatherboard panels and the garden wasn't the wild unkempt mess that it is today.

He's spent his whole life living here. He knows every broken tile and all the stories behind how they became broken. He knows the sound of the stairs groaning under his feet all too well and the rattling of the geyser in the morning.

He can still remember himself as a child, running around the now snow-covered ground outside, hiding from his mother in between the lilly-pilly hedges as she goes in search of him, pretending to be the big bad wolf, or another monster out to eat him.

John smiles as he looks up at the lopsided street sign across the road.

The first time his mother ever let him go down to the shops she'd drilled the name of the street into him in case he got lost. "63 Totters Lane"

The smile fades from his face as he realises he will never see this quaint little street again.

Slowly, he leans off the door and walks down the garden path. The garden gate is open but he vaults over it anyway, landing in the pavement.

He breathes in the cold morning air, breathing out a fine mist as if he were a dragon and not a man.

He begins to walk away from the house, shoving his hands deep into his pocket to keep the frostbite away as he whistles a tune he's heard on the radio. To anyone else, this is just another man on his way to work.

At the corner of Totters Lane, John turns left, heading for Muriel's coffee shop. He's not sure who Muriel actually is, nor has he ever noticed that the thought of drinking coffee made by this woman has never been strange to him. He only ever decided to go there because it appeared to be the only shop that opened at 6:30 in the morning.

The small shop is wedged uncomfortably between two higher buildings, one is a cheap apartment block, the other a small business. The sign hangs lopsided over the building and John has often wondered if it might one day fall on some unsuspecting person innocently walking by.

The bell rings as he enters the store, a melodious chime, but John ignores it, lining up to get his usual morning coffee. He is immediately hit with the inciting smell of baking, everything from rhubarb crumble and custard tarts to poppy-seed loaf.

He keeps his head down at all times, staring at his shoes. In all the time he has been coming here, the only thing he's really been able to observe is the floor. He can see the grooves in the shinning floor boards which one of the apprentices has accidently made, wheeling the shelves around. He chuckled to himself at the sight of it, humans were so interesting.

Even when it's finally his turn to order, he does not meet the gaze of the girl behind the counter. He has no wish to glimpse the joys she'll never have, or even the pain she'll never bear because it's too much for one man to see.

What John does notice is the voice of the woman _behind_ him. He knows her, though he's never seen her face. He may be blinded by choice but he has become accustomed to listening, so much so that he's developed a keen sense of hearing.

He hears the same woman behind him, always buying her coffee at the same time, always on the phone to her 7 year old grandson. In the 3 years they've both been lining up to buy their drinks he has come to understand her situation.

Her grandson lost both his parents when he was 3 to a car accident. John can sympathize, he lost his mother the same way just after he graduated high school.

John hears the sound of scuffling feet in front of him and knows that it's his turn to order now.

He takes three very precise steps forward, careful not to bump into the counter as he places his order, "Hi, umm the usual thanks" he mutters, very intently staring at the apple turnover on display.

He can feel the woman's eyes curiously watching him as she does every morning and the urge to stare back is almost unbearable.

Once, two years ago he gave in and met the woman's gaze, a different woman back then.

He'd barely had time to actually see her face, black hair drawn back severely in a ponytail, brown apron caked in flour with a smidgen of it on her nose.

Then there had been a flash of blinding white light and suddenly he was envisioning her on a bus, seated up the front, clutching a red handbag in her lap as she watched the road outside pass by. John heard the driver announce the next street, saw the woman stand up, felt the bus come to a halt. And then she walked past him, out the open doors and onto the street corner.

She'd died three days after his vision; the afternoon bus she normally caught home collided with a truck, just one stop from the road she normally got off at.

He had thought, the day he met her gaze, that he could warn her, save her maybe. But that wasn't how the curse worked. He'd found that out when he was 16 and knew well enough not to mess with it.

"Soy latte, two sugars, milk warmed up" the new-yet not new-girl behind the counter says in a bored voice and John hears a soft rustle as the Styrofoam cup is placed carelessly on the counter. she can't be older then 18 he thinks, no doubt thinking about how she could be curled up in bed at this time in the morning.

He jerks in surprise, almost looking up.  
"Thank you" he says hurriedly, reaching in his pocket to find the right change to pay for his drink.

He fumbles the coins, clumsily dropping them onto the ground in an effort to leave as quickly as he can.

"Sorry, sorry" John mumbles, hearing the girl's sigh of frustration as he crouches down to pick them up again, the sound of copper colliding with wood is a pleasant sound, he decides, though picking it up again is not.

He curses as they slip through his fingers again, spinning across the floor with another clink.

And then, out of no where a hand appears, a slender hand, with a single ink spot under the knuckle adjoining the index finger.

"Here," a voice says, the most uncommon voice he's ever heard. It's a woman but oh, so much more then that. That voice tells him so much more then any of his visions ever could. If melting chocolate had a sound, that voice would be it.

John pretends not to notice her, straining to hear if she'll speak again.  
"Tricky buggers aren't they?" She says, her chuckle sending shivers down his spine in delight. It's a rich voice, throaty. Interesting in a way that would easily make any man in the room instantly tune in to her, no matter what the discussion.

John watches, transfixed as her hand races across the floor, seemingly caressing the floorboards until she finds what she's looking for.

"There you go sweetie" the voice says softly and he feels a sudden weight on his palm.

He notices that the slender hand is pressing something into his own rather large, unsophisticated looking palm. So different to hers.

His hand encloses around her's for a second longer then needed as she deposits what he knows is a coin in his palm.

"T-thank you" he stammers finally, but too late.

He can see out of the corner of his eye, the flurry of movement and the swish of some kind of fabric as the mystery woman stands up. John opens his mouth to call out to her, his arms failing as he tries to reach for her elbow, only to grasp at nothing. Then, as if she had appeared out of nowhere merely to help him, she disappears out of his view. John hears the chime of the door bell and knows that she's gone.

For a second he thinks about running after her, just to know why. Why on this day of all days she appears in his life? He doesn't even know what she looks like and yet her voice is so familiar to him. Like an old friend, no, like home.

She sounds like home.

Has he fallen in love? He wonders to himself. Is it possible? He's heard of love at first sight but he hasn't even seen her!

He needs to find her, the thought that she might have just walked out of his life forever is unbearable and he's absolutely bewildered by it. Something is getting in his way, something is stopping him.

"HELLO? SIR? CAN YOU HEAR ME?" John starts out of his trance, blinking in confusion. He hurriedly slams the coins down on the counter and waves his arm about on top of the counter until he stumbles upon his latte.

"Sorry" he mumbles again, picking up the cup and quickly exiting the shop. The boor bell announces his exit.

"Idiot" he curses himself.

Has his will to live become so overpowering that he's been reduced to believing that he is in love with a person he doesn't even know?

_A person he will never know!_ He reminds himself firmly. And even if he hadn't made up his mind already, he knew what would happen.

One look at this woman and he would see everything that would never happen for her. He would know instantly if they could have anything together. Every job offer she would turn down, every man she could have married. Nothing was ever a mystery to him. It was all there, the cards always laid out on the table for him to read, whether they wanted him to or not.

Shaking his head to clear the thought from his mind John takes off, towards the park.

He passes the playground, all the while staring at the label on his cup, remembering the one time he tried to avert someone's fate.

He had been 16, which would have made her 15. John pauses at the same tree he's stopped at ever since that day. Rose her name was, same as the tree that's neatly planted next to a towering oak.

He'd lain down with her on this very spot once, hands intertwining as they watched the autumn leaves fall. John had turned, just for a second, and a second was all the curse needed.

_Suddenly he was seated next to her in the back seat of her mother's car, on the way to the shops. And then another car had appeared, heading towards them, on the wrong side of the road, their side. Her mother was able to turn the car in time in John's vision, to drive off the road onto the nature strip and to safety. _

And then it was all over and he found himself staring at Rose's face once more, on the ground, hands intertwined.

John had known by then that his visions showed him some kind of alternate version of events. But he had been young, naïve and that was how he lost her.

The day her mother asked her if she wanted to pop out with her to get some dinner John begged Rose not to go.

Confused and bewildered she agreed nonetheless, opting to curl up on the couch with him while he stroked her hair soothingly and tried not to look directly at her. _She hadn't ever minded that he was that strange smith boy from Totter's lane, _Rose was a kindred spirit.

Her mother died that night, when another car crashed into hers.

John hadn't expected that. And he certainly didn't expect what happened next.

Having no other family, Rose was packed off and taken away from her home a week later, to live with a foster family on the other side of the town.

He had attempted to prevent her future, and instead destroyed her life. Rose Tyler died of neglect, or so the court declared five months later. She died of injuries sustained during an argument with her new 'father'.

John was devastated, refusing to come out of his room for three weeks, much to his parent's distress.

She had died still, despite all his efforts to save her, fate had righted itself and taken her life in a more brutal fashion then it had originally intended.

And that was when John finally understood the nature of this curse. He was doomed to be mocked with false scenes of happiness where there was only horror, and horror where there was happiness.

"Hello Rose" he whispers now softly as he brushes the harsh bark of the sleeping rose tree softly.

He'd see her again he supposed, if all went to plan.

With that John leaves the playground, walking towards the road beyond.

A grey concrete bridge comes into view, over which only a few cars are driving on this morning leaving behind a trail of exhaust fumes.

John checks his watch hurriedly. 7:30 already, he'll be late to his own death if he doesn't hurry.

He takes one final gulp of his latte and then throws the cup into the bin next to the tree, striding forward quickly.

"Time waits for no man" he tells himself though he knows that is ridiculous, he almost can't believe he's just said that, what was it he always said? _Time is not the boss of him!_ Well, he supposed, _Time's changed. _He chuckled to himself, wishing someone was there to hear that.

The distance between the park and the bridge is close. He's almost stunned to find himself standing on the pedestrian walkway, peering over the edge.

It's a long way down and if the fall doesn't kill him, John is sure he'll die of hypothermia by the looks of the water below.

He sighs, taking the book he's brought along for this occasion out of his pocket.

He's loved all the poets in his time, but Blake is by far his favourite, maybe that's his mother's influence.

John flicks through the dog-eared pages of his book until he finds what he's looking for. The book is held out towards the water as he begins to read aloud.

"To see a world in a grain of sand,  
And a heaven in a wildflower,  
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,  
And eternity in an hour" John recites, he doesn't know why he bothered to bring the book at all, he knows this poem off by heart.

"A robin red breast in his cage, puts all heaven in a rage..." He is about to go on before a sudden gust of wind blows the small book out of his hands.

Silently John watches it fall down, down, down. Before it finally lands with a small splash into the raging waters below. Water seeps onto the yellowed pages, leaving black ink marks running down, becoming one with the hungry waves. Within seconds the entire book is completely submerged under the water, and John is left staring at the spot where it had landed.

He consoles himself quickly that the book had gone to its fate earlier then planned, and then he puts his hands on the concrete barrier, preparing to climb on top of it.

He lands with a thud on the barrier, it being wide enough to fit his entire frame. "Oof" John groans in surprise as he slowly stands up, rubbing his knee as he does so.

He sighs, turning to face the bridge once more and looks down at the swirling water that awaits. John's mind races as he thinks of his wretched existence, running through al the names he knows, wondering who among them will actually miss him? He doubts any of his family will go to his funeral, the only one among them that cared is long gone.

He was always an odd child, from the age of three he began to have those visions. That was how it all began, how his family slowly drifted away. He was the youngest child, his two brothers were both in high school at that time. Charlie moved out soon after, the other one followed as soon as he graduated.

John was the reason they all moved out, including his father two years after. He couldn't take it, having a kid that saw things that weren't there, a child who was 'deranged' as he told his wife. Ands so John was left with his mother, just them, living in a house that was far to large for a mere two people.

His mother had been his best friend, his only true friend. John had never told anyone else about his visions, that was the only way he was able to get through life, the only way he'd been able to meet people his own age.

His father never returned, not even when his mother died, John heard that he had remarried and had a normal son. His brothers too, were a no-show at there mother's funeral.

John thinks now about saying something before he jumps, and immediately a string of clichés come to mind, "good bye cruel world" among them.

He almost laughs and then thinks better of it. This is certainly no laughing matter, and yet, he feels happy, for the first time in years he feels the relief of death approaching and what a relief it will be.

John raises his arms wide, hearing nothing but the sound of the wind soaring through his outstretched hands...no, that's not quite right.

There's a voice now, he can hear it quite clearly over the wind.

"Don't do it!" It's that voice again, the woman who sounds like chocolate and home.

"What?" John cries in alarm. She had followed him then...but why? He certainly didn't know her and it was not as if she owed him anything.

Almost as if she's read his mind the woman goes on, "I saw you in the coffee shop and, and I just knew." She pauses before adding softly so that he has to strain to hear her, "that's how I lost my father"

John's throat goes dry, hearing the pain in her voice.

"I'm sorry" he says hoarsely. He doesn't want to cause her pain, to bring up memories of this father of hers, "But I have to"

She laughs sarcastically at that. "Have to? No you don't have to do that. There is always another option; death is not the only answer!"

John throws his head up in frustration, why did it have to be a woman? And one with that voice? It's not her fault, he chides himself, she thinks you're a normal person. For the umpteenth time he wishes he was just a normal person, not burdened by those visions.

"Look lady, no one can help me! I have to die, and it has to be now!" He replies, staring at the waters below in a determined manner.

He hears her cry back in an equally stubborn tone, "but I can't let you die! Not on my watch Mr.!"

"What's your problem? You don't even know me!" John roars back, feeling his resolve weaken by the second.

There is no answer from the woman and he thought for a second that she must have left, and then he hears her again, in that same arrogant tone,  
"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want to live"

John chuckles darkly, "you're fighting a losing battle there" he says.

He gives into her demand, because, he reasons, when he does turn around and see the life she'll never have, it will only convince him further. He never asked to see any of that, and yet fate bestowed it upon him.

Slowly John turns away from the water, "I don't want..." He stops, jaw dropping. "To live" he finishes.

He sees nothing, well except the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

But there's nothing else, no visions, just her. The blinding flash of light never occurs, instead he's left standing there, gawping like a goldfish as he takes in her appearance.

For the first time in his life John Smith has been able to look at a person, to really look, without envisioning anything else, apart from how she has presented herself to the rest of the world. Whatever she wishes to be known is there, but all those hidden moments, all those decisions she'll never make, are completely hidden from him. It's almost as if there is nothing she won't do, no aspect of life she doesn't consider useless or uninteresting.

The first thing he notices is the hair. How can he not? Her long blonde curls are simply captivating, cascading down her shoulders. The satin blue dress she's wearing serves the dual purpose of highlighting those curls and emphasizing her voluptuous curves. Her eyes carry such intense emotions, a swirling see of blue-green that he would happily lose himself in. She is beautiful, she's also older then him, John is aware of that, by perhaps 15 or so years at least and he feels like a school boy crushing on his teacher, but, oh she is stunning.

Her expression is not.

John gulps and realises he's been staring at her for far too long. But he can't help it, it's almost as if he's been blind his whole life and can suddenly see again.

She's a mystery, a complete enigma and that thought delights him. A person he knows nothing about.

"I-i" he stammers, almost stumbling backwards off the edge, he can hear the water, hungry to smother him like it did to the book.

"Easy there tiger" she cries, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him towards the other side of the ledge.

He topples off the ledge quite suddenly and slams into her, they're bodies colliding.

She gives a cry of alarm as they both fall onto the pavement, him on top of her.

John looks down in surprise, not believing that he can be in such close proximity to another human being, especially not with someone so beautiful. Not since he was 16 has he touched another human being, or even looked someone in the face. He's mystified now.

The woman's face is hidden by those blonde curls and she splutters, trying to throw her hair off her face.

"Here" john says softly as he clears her hair away for her.

His fingers accidently brush against her lips and he hears her sharp intake of breath. He holds his own breath in response.

"Take your time, that's fine" she snaps after a second or two, regaining her composure and gesturing for him to get off her.

"Sorry," John mumbles in embarrassment, turning away from her as he stands up hastily.

He offers her a shaky hand and her expression immediately softens. "Oh sweetie, I'm sorry. It's not my day I guess" she pauses before going on in all seriousness, "Not yours either I take it?"

John smiles politely, anxious not to involve her and yet willing to admit everything on the spot.

How curious this was, all his life he has tried to remain oblivious, to keep out of trouble and yet she makes him want to live in the limelight. He wants to be noticed by her, he wants to hold her interest rather then merely offering his thanks and stalking off to find another way to end his life. He finds that he wants to live long enough to understand why he can't see anything about her.

"jj-John-Smith" He blurts out, making it sound like one word. He flattens his hair nervously, reminding himself that he has absolutely no idea what he looks like, having not seen his own reflection for years.

She frowns, trying to make sense of it, "sorry?" she asks as politely as possible, he was trying to commit suicide not to long ago, she doesn't want to push it.

"I 'm John Smith" He stammers again, holding out his hand to her.

She smiles as she shakes his hand gently, "River Song, nice to meet you John," she says and then, realizing the circumstances under which they have met, she hastily corrects herself, "I mean, no, it's not nice, but it is nice to meet you, I just mean, how we met…" she looks quite flustered now and the thought occurs to he him that perhaps she's just as taken by him as he is by her.

John relaxes instantly, "River Song, lovely name. well, I guess I owe you my life Ms Song" he waits anxiously to see if she'll correct the title, expecting a _"that's Mrs. Song"_ instead. John is pleasantly surprised when that's not the case.

"Oh, it could have been anyone John, I just happened to see it, that's all" she smiles again, finally removing his hand from his. For a second he almost reaches for her again but thinks better of it.

"No, I don't think it could have been anyone else" He replies in all honestly.

He watches the colour rise in her cheeks as she senses his sincerity and feels his heart beat a little faster.

"I know this may be a little forward" He begins, mentally arguing with himself before his negative side relents and he's able to go on, "but would you like to grab a coffee?"

She frowns and he panics, but then her face breaks into a smile and she says, "Well, I suppose that would be ok"

"Don't' think that you have to or anything" John hurriedly goes on, indicating to the wall and then to himself, "It's not going to send me over the edge or anything" Before he adds quietly so that she can't hear him, "I don't' think anything could now."

River laughs, "No, that's not why I'm agreeing, I saw the look on your face when you turned around, I know you won't" She says softly.

John nods, he doesn't want to die anymore, he aches to live, and he's glad she has noticed that. He feared perhaps that she would pity him, like she felt that she owed it to the poor man to give him some hope in life. But she had been his hope without even trying.

"Then why?" John asks curiously, mentally exclaiming at how different this day had turned out.

River shrugs, "well, you don't seem like the average guy"

"you mean other then the fact that I just tried to jump off a bridge?" John retorts and she shakes her head, tilting her face to the side, "There's something about you John that makes me think you're different, plus" she adds with a wink, "you're not bad to look at"

John laughs loudly, "so Ms Song" He says, offering her his arm, "Do you always pick up men by saving their life? "

"Oh you know me" She answers, and he whispers, "No, I don't...and that's what's curious."

John remarks once more how curious this day has been, here he had been, determined to end his life and yet had he of jumped seconds earlier, he would have missed a ray of hope that some higher power was offering him. He knows now, it was not his will to live that had got the better of him in that coffee shop, it was someone else's will for him to do so.

He still doesn't understand why he can't see the alternate futures of the enigmatic Ms River Song but he expects that time will tell, _time really wasn't the boss of him. _

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_This Fic is powered by reviews, all reviews, all feedback, all is welcome :D_


	3. Chapter two

_**A/N:** Thank you so much guys for all the reviews and i'm so sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter! i hope that wait was worth it! **just a little warning though of, this next chapter contains implied domestic abuse**_

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**Chapter two: One Of Life's Lessons**

"So, tell me everything" John says warmly, gesturing for River to speak as he slides into the seat opposite her in the cafe.

She blushes and looks down at the ground in response, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with one hand while the other grips the steaming coffee cup more firmly.

"Everything?" She asks out loud.

She looks up to meet his charming smile with a flash of her own pearly whites, "awfully curious aren't you Mr Smith" she says with a wink.

John laughs in reply, running a hand carelessly through his hair.

River says nothing for a second or so, opting to gently blow the foam off of her cappuccino and take a sip before she goes on. "Ok you persistent little bugger."

John frowns, leaning back on his chair and pouting down at her. He quickly leans back down as he realises there are other people in the booth behind her.

It's as if the moment he realised that he can't read her he's forgotten about the curse.  
Or that just over 20 minutes ago he was planning on ending his life.

"There's not much to tell John" River shrugs. "I'm an only child, both my parents are gone."

"You said your father took his own life" John whispers softly.

The grin on her face faded. "My mother died when I was 16, Dad couldn't cope with it." she said softly. "I don't blame him or anything, she was the love of his life" River finishes softly.

John instinctively reaches across the table prise one of her hands from around her cup to grasp it firmly, "what were their names?"

"Rory and Amelia." She replies, a lone tear sliding down her cheek.

"Brilliant names. I wish I could have met them." He replies, squeezing her hand.

"They were brilliant people too" she adds, tearing her hand away from his hastily to wipe the tears slowly seeping down her face.

"But enough about me, what about you John?" She asks, flashing him a weak smile.

"Me?" John pauses. What could he possibly tell her that wouldn't leave her staring at him in horror as if he is a mad man. That's not to say he doesn't want to tell her everything. John has never felt like this about anyone else in his life, up to this point he didn't have the luxury of being able to even look at a woman, let alone sit down and have a proper discussion.

With Rose he'd never said much, she seemed to enjoy his company even when he was silent and she didn't mind his strange habit of never looking at a person. They'd spend hours laying out in the park under those trees, always looking at the sky.

At home he never needed to even speak, his mother's instincts were so finely tuned and she could sense if something was wrong the minute he walked through the door.

"It's ok John, you don't have to tell me" John became aware that River was addressing him and quickly looked up, smiling.  
"No, its fine River, its just, well its been such a long time since I properly talked to anyone that I'm not sure what to say." He admits, lifting his cup and taking a sip of tea.

He immediately spits it back into the cup, yelping as the scalding hot liquid burnt his tongue.

River snorts. "You're impossible"

"Not impossible" he grin back,  
setting the cup back down on the table and pushing it away from him, "just improbable"

River sets her own cup down and nudges it over to his side of the table, gesturing for him to finish it. When John begins to protest she shouts loudly over the top of him, "I won't take no for an answer sweetie"

John grins, sweetie, he likes that. He graciously accepts the cappuccino and takes a more cautious sip, smacking his lips and flashing River a smile. She in turn laughs, shaking her head.

"John I don't know why you would want to die when you're one of the most lively people I've met" she says softly.

John meets her gaze, taking in the varying shades of green and blue and trying to determine the exact number of them that he can find in those eyes.

"Now that I look back on it" he begins, his eyes never leaving hers. "I can't imagine why either"

River beams, pushing back a lone curl as John goes on, "what about work River, what do you do?"

"Oh, I'm a bit of everything really, I taught art for a couple of years at high school but I decided that wasn't my thing" she chuckles, pointing to the ink spot on her hand. "I still paint of course, but its more of a hobby now"

"Then what do you do these days?" John asks, leaning in eagerly, his chin resting on one hand which was propped up on the table.

"You're very eager" River replies in a suggestive tone. John chokes, his chin sliding off of his hand and almost colliding with the cup in front of him.

River immediately straightens up and clears her throat, "gosh John, I'm sorry if that was too forward"

John blushes profusely as he inwardly curses himself. "Oh god no River, keep going by all means" the words are out before he can stop himself and he turns a deeper shade of red as he averts his eyes. "Sorry, sorry."

"You are an enigma John Smith" River chuckles, "scared young boy barely out of high school one moment, man of many words the next"

"Me?" John asks, gesturing to her instead, "if anyone's the enigma here it's you River Song. I want to know every last detail of your life, every facet of your personality."

"You really know how to flatter a girl don't you John?" River asks with a pleased smile as she adjusts her skirt.

John follows her movement with undisguised interest. Upon catching him out she merely winks and places her hands back on the table.

"I'm an Archaeologist these days" She goes on after a beat as if she hasn't just flirted with him a second before.

John wrinkles his nose, "Archaeology?" He asks.

"Got a problem with Archaeologists have you?" River retorts in mock outrage.

John hastily throws his hands up "No no its just blimey, I never picked you as an archaeologist. You don't dress like one for starters" he said, indicating to her clothes with a series if wild gestures.

"Why don't you like the way I dress?" She asks and before he can answer she leans over the table so that he gets a good view down her blouse as she whispers "or would you prefer me in nothing at all"

John doesn't know why he replies the way he does, indeed whenever a woman had tried to make a pass at him his response was simply to stammer a quiet "no thank you" and hurry away.

Instead he finds himself reaching out slowly, his fingers brushing ever so slightly over River's arm as he meets her gaze, "let's find out shall we"

"I like the sound of that" she replies and John can tell from the look in her eyes that she means every word of that.

In the background he can hear the sound of the other customers in the cafe, talking over the sound of cutlery tinkling. He can hear the door open but pays no heed to the world within this cafe twirling around them, at this moment it is River and River alone that he cares about. River Song with her nice hair and her well-fitted clothes and perfume that conjures up images of flowers in a meadow.

He leans towards her ever so slowly, with the full intention of kissing her, when suddenly she looks up at something behind him and jumps violently, sliding back into her seat.

"John" she begins, slowly and he's surprised to see the pain etched on her face as she meets his gaze once more. "I'm so sorry, I should of told you before..." She begins to say but is cut short by a loud male voice calling out her name.

Before he can stop himself John turns to look over his shoulder, the effect is immediate. One second he is staring at the moderately occupied cafe, three or four tables left lonesome. The next the building is packed to the brim with the ghostly doppelgangers of each person, the choices lost in time.

Across the room the woman who was breaking up with her boyfriend over the phone is instead discussing her recent engagement to said boyfriend.

An old man in the corner is both slumped in his chair idly swirling his spoon in a tea cup and leaning over the table to embrace his long dead wife.

A couple are seated in the far booth, glumly staring into space while their doppelgangers sit with their missing son.

It's a horrifying thing for John and he almost topples out of his seat, overcome by the sheer enormity of it.

And suddenly he can see something that makes his blood boil and his throat run dry.

There's a man who has only just entered the shop, dressed in a crisp black suit and matching black tie, but the man. Behind him John can see many different things, all the conversations he'll never have, people he'll never meet. In particular though he focuses on a pretty woman with blonde hair, her transparent arm linked through the man's as he walks, laughing with her. Besides them is a young girl, perhaps 16. She has blonde hair and blue eyes and is laughing with the two adults.

He knows that girl, knows that she never laughed with that man like she is doing now, and that breaks his heart.

That man's face still haunted John, he would never forget the face of Rose Tyler's murderer.

Harold Saxon was a madman, although John could think of a few choicer words to describe him. He had abused Rose on a regular basis though she had tried to hide it from the outside world. John, never actually being able to look at her had never seen the bruises she sported, but the descriptions the prosecution had read out told him all he needed to know.

Harold was given just 10 years for Rose's murder, and that was just too short for a life so valuable John thought.

His wife Lucy, originally in on the entire thing before she too was subjected to her husband's temper, caved in and told the authorities all they needed to know. She too served a sentence, 2 years in a psychiatric ward. Afterwards she'd disappeared, no doubt terrified that her husband might find her.

John's hands curled into fists as he forces himself to turn away, the images of times that never happened instantly leaving him as he blinked down at River's half empty cup.

14 years he thought to himself, seething on the inside, 14 years since Rose's death which meant that he had built himself up in just 4, a flashy suit and probably a flashy car to match while Rose Tyler lay buried in a graveyard.

He wanted to stand up and throttle the man to death, watch the life leave his eyes as he screamed, this is how she felt when you did the same to her.

But he didn't, because that's nor what Rose would have wanted.

He looked up and met River's questioning gaze, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he still did not see the futures she'd never have.

In the next second that relief turns to a mixture of blind panic and rage as he sees a black suit out of the corner of his eye come to a stop at the edge of their table, specifically River's side. The figure bends down and River turns hurriedly to meet their gaze. A quick peck on the lips and a muttered conversation is followed by River gesturing to John as she tries to keep the sadness out of her voice, "John this my husband, Harry."  
The next second a suit clad hand teaches forward, the same hand that once hurt Rose. He obviously doesn't recognise John but that was expected, "John, pleased to meet you. Colleague of the wife's huh?"

At first he adopts a pleasant tone but as time ticks and John doesn't reply Harold's voice changes, "_My wife _I mean. Not yours. Course I don't know if you have a wife" followed by a dry chuckle which River joins in with, not altogether amused herself. To anyone else Harry sounds like he's just having a laugh, but by the way he lingers on the "my" hints at a possessive undertone.

Like she's his plaything.

John's heart sinks and a lump forms in his throat that just won't die down.

Fate is mocking him once more. He loved Rose, and lost her to a monster. He begins to fall for River and she's snatched away by the same man. He can not believe that this is happening. There are 7 billion people in the world for gods sake and she's married to him! Her being married at all was a disappointment as it was.

He's not angry at River for neglecting to mention that she was married. Perhaps she herself likes to forget that. The absence of a wedding ring points to that.

John turns pale at the thought that maybe Harry is abusing her too.

He steels himself as he replies in the most neutral tone he can manage, "oh I don't know _Harry_, I think a woman like your wife doesn't really belong to any man"

River's eyes dart quickly to her husband and then to John, mouthing, "stop it" as she does. John glances at her with a frown and is shocked to see that her hands are trembling.

Harold hasn't changed then, John remarks to himself, his fists clenching over the table again.

"Yes well what would you know about her?" Harold retorts and this time, it's with barely contained rage. He can't see the other man's face but he can sure as hell guess the expression printed all over it.

John glances again at River and is startled once more. Her entire demeanor has changed. With John she was relaxed, calm, flirtatious even. Now that her husband stands beside her she had slunk down as far in her chair as she could manage, shoulders slumped and a terrified look on her face that makes John want to gather her into his arms. A woman as strong and confident as her, reduced to that in mere moments.

He's about to reach for her when her husband yanks her to her feet, growling as he does so, "well, I think we'll be leaving now don't you, dear?"  
The word _dear_he hangs onto, injecting contempt and mockery into a word that should only hold affection.

John has to do something and he has to do it now.

He'll not let this happen all over again.

John makes the mistake of looking up once more, (later he can't help but smile at how reckless he's become in River's presence.) He sees the flash of light as soon as his eyes meet Harold's and has just enough time to take in the blue eyes, blonde hair and arrogant smile before it's replaced by a different scene. If the situation was tense before, its nothing like what it descends into.

John sees a room, a lounge room by the look of it, well furnished. John has no time to take in the scenery however as a young woman rushed into the room, red hair thrown wildly about. Her face is tear stained as she holds a phone to her ear, sobbing hysterically as she looks down at the sofa.

John follows her gaze. Afterwards he wishes he hadn't. Blood is smeared across the otherwise white leather covers, a body sprawled across the seat at an odd angle.

Already knowing what is coming John takes a step towards the sofa. The woman alternates between talking to the phone and the unconscious figure on the sofa, oblivious to John's presence. "oh come on, pick up, pick up." "Stay with me, you can do this, stay with me! You're going to be fine do you hear me? Don't you die on me!"

Shaking now John looks down at the sofa.

The scene shifts yet again before he can see and suddenly he's back in the cafe, breathing heavily as his hands fumble across the tabletop.

He knows the woman on the couch is River, and he's rather thankful to have been saved from seeing that, but why couldn't he? The question lingers unanswered in the air but he has no time to dwell on it.

Harold is already turning away and John knows that if he doesn't stop him now then River Song will end up dead on that sofa, only this time it'll be without the help of her red haired friend.

He grabs River's hand before Harry can pull her away. "John" River cries in anguish.  
"He's hurting you? Isn't he?" John asked, searching her eyes for any kind of answer. There's no trace as she draws herself up and coolly replies, "at the moment you're the one hurting me" as she gestures to her hand.

John immediately let's go of her, an incredulous look on his face, "how? How can you stay with him River!?"he asks.  
"I have my reasons John" she spits back viciously. "Stay out of it!"

"Kind of can't now can I? Tell me River, why flirt with me if you're already married? Can't be too good of a husband if you run around flaunting yourself at every man you find" he doesn't mean to say that at all. It's hurtful and he knows that it was unforgivable the moment it was out of his mouth.

River flinches and John immediately feels bad,  
"You were going to kill yourself John" she replies, biting her lip. "I just wanted to give you hope"

"River "he hisses back, ignoring Harry's voice calling out to her as if she were a pet. "If you stay with him then that would be the equivalent of suicide"

River gives him a regretful look, "it was nice to meet you John. Goodbye" she leans down and quickly presses a warm kiss against his cheek before she turns and leaves the cafe, Harry sliding his arm around her waist tightly as she reaches him.

John follows them both with his eyes until they are out of sight. What is this hold that Harold Saxon has over women? From what he'd heard at the trial Lucy had waited over two years before she finally cracked. He just hoped River would do the same before she ended up dead.

John shook his head, wondering how he could have begun the day feeling like he was already dead and ending it with such purpose. Either way, River Song had made sure that he was going to keep living, long enough to stop Harry in any case. The first thing to do was to go straight to the police.

John sighed as he glanced down at the half finished cappuccino.

It was then that he noticed a small scrap of paper neatly folded and seated on the saucer. Curious John reached for the paper, rolling it out with his thumb. River must of left it, he thought.

Just two words were scrawled in cursive on the inside with a black biro. Two words that puzzled and intrigued him all at once.

"Scotland Yard"

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_**please review guys, i love hearing your comments!**_


	4. Chapter three

_hi guys thanks for all your lovely reviews :)_

_hope you enjoy this chapter! _

_I included an Agatha Christie reference by the way, just in case you find it confusing, "At betram's hotel" one of her many novels included a police officer nicknamed Father and I thought it explained Octavian perfectly XD_

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**Chapter Three: The Plot Thickens **

John finds himself at the yard in less then ten minutes, thoroughly out of breath with his clothes thrown about wildly.

To any of the officers he resembles a madman with no or rather, _insane_ purpose. Of course John didn't know that since he couldn't see their faces.

"I'd like to report a crime!" He pants, leaning over the counter top with his arms swinging uselessly.

"Is this a self confession?" The officer asks in response, throwing himself as far away from John as he could manage in the spindly seat he occupied.

"What?! No of course not, I haven't done anything wrong. This isn't about me, this is about Harold Saxon" John quickly explains, that familiar rage creeping over him at the mention of Harry.

"Sorry, Harold Saxon? You don't mean that bloke from a couple of years ago? The Rose Tyler case yeah?" The officer asks and John feels a mixture of relief and pain all at once.

If it was something this officer had remembered all these years then chances were he'd be more willing to listen.

"The Rose Tyler case" John confirms, standing up and stuffing his fingers into his pockets, he couldn't believe his luck, he'd barely entered the station and he'd already got somewhere.

"But he's reformed ya see, it's been on the news and everything." The officer answers simply and John's heart fell.

Yeah because a man like that can really change, He thought sarcastically to himself. What was wrong with this man? He got his explanation in the next moment.

"He's funding a new station for us too"

"So it's ok if he's abusing his wife at home, as long as you all get a new station." John spat angrily, and for the first time in his life he felt like using his gift or curse or whatever it was as a weapon. To look up at that officer, to see the children he'll never have and the wife fate will deny him and the car he'll spend his life dreaming about, and tell him all of that.

John is immediately appalled at the thought, since when had he become that sort if person?

"Wife?" The officer was asking now and John could practically hear him scratching his head in wonder. "What wife? He aint married"

"Of course he's married" John cried back angrily, he'd just had coffee with the woman for gods sake.

"She told me to come here, look see, she just wrote me this" He went on, pulling the scrap bit of paper out of his pocket and tossing it onto the counter. Well that last bit wasn't strictly true, he had no idea why River had left him that message, he could only assume that she wanted his help.

He must have thrown the paper too far because in the next second he heard the scrape of chair legs and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

After a brief scramble the chair creaks under a sudden weight with the accompaniment of the crinkle of paper.

"Scotland yard... " the officer began, no doubt squinting at the scrawl.  
"Oh." He heard the officer let out a soft noise that might have been somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

John frowned, in all honesty that note proved absolutely nothing as anyone could have wrote it and frankly, it showed no evidence of abuse. But if this man believed him then he might as well go along with it.

"I think ya'd better wait here," the officer told John in a slow voice before he bellowed, "someone get father!"

John's brow crinkled, "father? Are you all Agatha Christie fans or something?" He asked, referring to one of his favourite novels with a wide grin. "I'd love to meet Agatha Christie, bet she's brilliant!"

"Agatha Who?" The officer asked in a confused tone. John's mouth opened in horror.

He'd never heard of Agatha Christie? Honestly the woman was a national treasure.

Focus John, a voice in the back of his head commanded.

"Hey, what did ya say ya name was?" The officer asked.

It took a moment for John to realise that the man was speaking to him.

"Erh, John, John Smith" John replied, gesturing wildly.

"Eh, yeah, John Smith" the officer replied in a disbelieving tone, "well if ya take a seat Fath- I mean, someone will be along to see ya."

Curious John nodded and quickly turned around to look for a seat. He could hear a muffled conversation between the officer he'd spoken too and someone else but paid no heed, opting to take a seat near the window that was terribly uncomfortable and spend his time counting the bowties printed on his socks.

He had just reached 23 when he heard the sound of the door opening and jumped in surprise as a gruff male voice asked, "John Smith?"

John immediately straightened up and nodded, his eyes landing on the dark camouflage vest in front of him, accompanied by a black shirt, trousers, polished black boots and a silver dog chain that swung wildly though there was no breeze. Strange attire for a police officer John thought to himself, he resembled more of a military figure.

"I'm Chief Inspector Octavian. I think you'd better come with me" as quickly as the figure had arrived he was gone again.

John's jaw dropped, the Chief inspector himself had taken it upon himself to take on this case? John didn't know what to say.

Evidently Harold's bribery wasn't enough for the higher officers to turn a blind eye to the atrocities he had committed. Was still committing John reminded himself.

He quickly got to his feet and stumbled after the Chief Inspector, his bandy legs flailing all over the place. John had the knack for being inherently clumsy. Octavian only paused once to hold the door for him. He was a fast walker however and since the only thing John had to follow was the black boots against a linoleum floor, he quickly lost track of the other man upon reaching the corner.

John froze as he turned into the hallway, daring go look up. The path in front of him was empty, too empty, with multiple doors on either side leading off to god knows where.

John paused gesturing wildly to each door, "ahhhh this one" he settled on the door closest to him, a dark brown colour with a brass doorknob.

Opening the door however only served to prove him wrong. "Definitely not then, sorry!" He called out to the officer at the desk who's face was obscured by the rather lurid magazine he was holding. He carefully replaced the door and instead turned to the one directly beside it. He was about to open that door when he heard Octavian bark, "Mr Smith what in the lord's name do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry, Sorry," John muttered, spinning around to find the pair of black boots he'd been following.

Octavian responded with an aggravated sigh and the black boots turned away from him and marched on.

The boots halt at the 3rd doorway on the right, the door thrown open so that John catches a glimpse of what is inside. A small fibre glass desk takes up most of the room upon which a dark blue jacket trailed across, indicating that a man is seated there. Underneath the desk John spots a pair of black heels, tapping the ground impatiently. A woman.

"John, this is Detective Amelia Pond and..." Octavian begins to say before the man seated on the desk clears his throat and offers John his hand, "Captain Jack Harkness" the other man introduces himself in an American accent.

"Former Captain Jack Harkness" Octavian corrects, muttering under breath about New York Police.

John accepts the Captain's handshake. He risks a glance at the man and sees enough before the curse takes effect, dark hair and eyes that match, fathomless, those eyes have seen much he thinks before he has the chance to glimpse for himself the things they'll never see.

_A quick flash of light and the Captain is standing on a pier, waves lapping against the wooden beams gently as the man looks out across the sapphire water._

There's a boat coming in, a small brightly painted ferry with a figure at the prow. It's a man dressed in black, waving to Jack.

John watches as Jack's face lights up, he leans off the wooden safety rail and waves back in earnest, a smile on his face.

The scene flashes back to the present day and John is left wondering. He remembers seeing that boat on the news a while ago. It had crashed against the rocks on that beach. No survivors. Who had that man been to Jack? John wonders. A friend perhaps, or possibly a lover?

"Woh," Jack says after a second, waving his free hand in front of John's face. "You alright there? "

John becomes aware that he's still holding the Captain's hand. "Don't worry" Jack chuckles after a second. "I have that effect on people"

John let's go of the other man's hand as Octavian groans and the woman at the desk snorts. "Mr Harkness is a private investigator these days, bit of a nuisance mostly but he _sometimes_proves useful." Octavian informs John.

John hears the sound of a chair being pushed back and flurried movement before a second person is standing in front of him.

John can see the same pair of black heels that had been under the desk before, now accompanied by black stockings and a black pencil skirt.

"Pond" the woman begins in a thick Scottish accent, holding a pale hand out to John. "Amelia Pond"

"That's a rubbish joke" John mutters back as he takes her hand enthusiastically "I might just arrest you for that John!" Amelia jokes as he looks up and meets her gaze.

Detective Amelia Pond is quite young. Too young in fact. Auburn tresses and a pale, almost round face. That's all John can see however, before another scene comes into play.

_Amelia is seated at a cafe but her appearance is dramatically altered. Her auburn hair is scraped back into a sort of half ponytail, limp and slightly damp. Her eyes are red rimmed from crying and the dress she's wearing is creased. She slumps in her chair, a black mobile sits on the table next to her. The screen lights up and Amelia hurriedly picks it up, putting it to her ear. "Hello" she croaks._

John can hear a voice on the other end reply, "Amy, oh god. I'm so sorry for your loss..." The condolences from the other end of the phone are drowned out by Amelia's wail of anguish.

Another flash of light and john is back in the office, Amelia's black heels turning back to her desk.

At least she'll never have to deal with that. He thinks to himself. The pain of losing someone, whoever died in that other version of reality is still alive here.

"So what's going on Father?" Amelia inquires, all business like now.

"Why do you call him Father?" John can't help but ask

Jack and Amelia laugh. "His first case was a murder at a hotel called Bertram's"

"So it was an Agatha Christie thing" John exclaims in excitement.

Octavian coughs once more and John is sure that he's just rolled his eyes. "I think you two had better see this" he says as he takes a step towards the other two. In his hand John can see the piece of paper that River had given him not too long ago.

There's an intake of breathe from Amelia. "Is that?" She begins. "Yes" Octavian replies curtly.

"John" Octavian begins to say before John hears the sound of footsteps and a new voice announces, "sorry I'm late, bloody paper work" its a male voice, of that John is sure and the accent is local, unlike Amelia and Jack.

"Ah Williams" Octavian replies in a grave voice as the footsteps make a beeline for the desk.

"John, this is Detective Rory Williams." Octavian says and suddenly yet another hand is being offered. "Hi. Who's this then?" He asks speaking to the others as John takes his hand bewilderedly.

He's not quite sure what's happening any more and while he is certainly no expert they all seem rather concerned about a note that really doesn't prove anything.

"Father was just about to explain," Amelia replies.

Something isn't quite right John thinks to himself. Well actually a lot of things aren't right about this, for starters he was supposed to have been dead by this time. But there's one thing in particular that he just can't place. Never mind. He consoles himself. It will come to him.

"John, I think you'd better tell us everything that you know." Octavian was now saying. John nods and finds himself being ushered into a chair by Amelia who patted him on the shoulder kindly.

"Tell us everything John. Please" she whispers.

It finally clicked. What was wrong. "Amelia" he says out loud. "Amelia and Rory" it dawned on him. "She said her parents were called Amelia and Rory"

From somewhere behind him he heard Octavian curse loudly while Amelia lets out a small moan. John frowns,

"Can someone explain what's going on here?" He asks angrily. "I mean in all honesty that note isn't a great price of evidence and you're all fawning over it like it's the Magna Carta. And yeah, I'm grateful that you're taking me seriously but while we're all here _explaining_things to each other Harold Saxon is getting away with abuse. AGAIN!" He didn't mean to yell, but once he began he couldn't help it. Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

"John" Amelia said in a calm voice and he felt her hand gently on his shoulder once more. "I know this is confusing for you but I need you to tell me something, just this one thing and I promise, I'll tell you everything you need to know. Trust me John."

"We can't tell him anything Pond this is an official investigation as of now!" Octavian spluttered and John could see the black pair if boots begin to pace the floor.

"Wether we like it or not he's part of this now!" Jack shot back as he leaned off the desk.  
"John" Amelia begins once more as Detective Williams leaned down next to John on the left side of the chair. "You said this was about Harold Saxon. Now you have to tell me, his wife. What does she look like?"

John gives a start of surprise. What an unusual question and more to the point, why does that even matter? River is in danger at this very moment.

But he can hear the tone of Detective Pond's voice and knows that somehow this is going to help. "She's got nice hair, blonde, curly. Blue-green eyes, said she was an Archaeologist"

There's an intake of breath from Amelia "her name is River Song, isn't it?"

"How did you know that?" John asks, eyes widening, remembering what the officer at the desk had said, he'd never heard of Harry's wife.

"Because John" Amelia starts to say as Octavian shouts over the top of her, "not another word Pond!"

"She's not an Archaeologist. She's a detective."

"Former Detective" Rory corrects.

"wha...?" John asks incredulously but even as he says that the pieces begin to fit together. River's insistence that everything was fine and that John didn't understand. She was right, he had no idea about what was really going on. And that lie about her father dying, it was a cover up, she must have handled a suicide case before and knew the signs. And she would have realised that John would have gone to the police so she wrote him the note to lead him straight here to the people that sent her out in the first place. She was undercover, and Harry was the target. John felt a wave of relief wash over him, she was fine, absolutely fine. He should have known better, she had the look of a woman who look after herself.

There was still one small detail however,

"She's out there" John said in a deliberately slow voice after a second. "She's living in the same house as a murderer because you people put her there? And you left her, alone. With no back up" His voice raised until he was practically shouting now.

"Aren't you listening?" Detective Williams shot back angrily as he stood up, pulling Amelia back with him.

"John we told you she's a former Detective." Amelia replied quietly, "_someone_" she went on and he could tell by the way she said it that she was referring to Octavian, "kicked her out 2 years ago. No one was undercover John, we couldn't send anyone, it would be too dangerous."

"But how..." John begins to say before Amelia goes on, "we were only supposed to keep an eye on Mr Saxon after he was released, all kinds of nasty things kept turning up, women being beat up but refusing to say anything. We were just to watch him. But River took things to heart, she always did"

"That's enough Pond!" Octavian cried harshly. "unless you want a suspension"

"If River trusted him then that's good enough for me!" Amelia shot back before she addressed John again, "she started talking to him, just decided one day and then suddenly she was in, he was buying her all these things and showing her off to all his friends, just like that. She wanted him to pay John, for everything he's done but _some_ of us thought that she took it too far."

John didn't know wether to cry or laugh. He'd only known her for perhaps 5 hours but in that time River had saved his life and given him a reason to keep on living. And now to discover all of this, well, she was an amazing woman.

Amelia went on "John she must have wanted you to know all of this, that's why she wrote you that note. She knew we'd recognise the handwriting."

"but why?" Jack asks from behind her.

"Don't you see?" Amelia cries, "she's in trouble"

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_*dramatic music*_

_**Please Review!** **:)** _


	5. Chapter four

_so sorry for the late update guys!_ _I've had a curious case of writers block! _

_Hope you all enjoy this chapter._

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**Chapter Four: A Helping Hand**

"She needs our Help!" Amelia finishes, spinning back to the others.

"She chose to become involved with Mr Saxon, I will not risk the lives of one of my officers because of the danger she put herself in!" Octavian barks harshly.

John grips the armrest of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. "You're the chief inspector!" He growls, teeth grinding in fury. "It's your duty to protect people!"

He is sure that Octavian is grinning bitterly as he replies. "But there's been no report of assault has there?"

"No report?" John stutters, outraged, "that's what I'm doing now!"

"And I'm supposed to take the word of a man who is clearly deranged, am I?" Octavian replies sarcastically.

"She's in trouble!" Amelia cries, aghast, and John is extremely thankful that someone else seems to care. "River is in trouble!" She repeats, voice cracking.

_River's life hung in the balance. That much was clear_.

"You will address your superior officer as sir or not at all Detective Pond" Octavian barks harshly, ignoring her comment.

There is a slight movement to his right and John is sure that Amelia was fidgeting now, her mind going into overload as she plans to countermine his authority.

"Yes Sir" she drawls after a moment.

John can't help but chuckle,_ oh he likes her._

Octavian seems happy enough with her response despite the obvious contempt she has for him as he replies, "I have a nasty suspicion that _Mrs Saxon_" John's mouth twitches, "will be the one brought in for questioning anyway. As you were!"

There's the _crunch_ of boots once more as Octavian leaves the room. Even if he couldn't hear those shoes the collective sigh that escapes the others lips are enough to let John know that their superior has just vacated this office.

"What does he mean, we'll be bringing River in for questioning? She hasn't done anything wrong!" Detective Williams hisses. Out of the corner of his eye John sees the man's blurry figure cross to the door and quietly close it so that no one else can overhear them.

He can practically _see_ Amelia roll her eyes, "He means, you ninny, that River didn't marry Harry boy for his charm and good looks!" She cries sarcastically. "We all know what she's capable of. In her mind, a stint in jail isn't enough, Harold has to pay for what he's done"

"No arguments there" Jack says in a dangerous tone from the back of the room. His voice has a hardened edge to it, like the blade of a knife. This is certainly a man who knows what death looks like, John thinks to himself.

He nods at the other man's words. It wasn't often that he wished another human ill, but Harold Saxon was far from human.

He'd murdered Rose, now he'd try to do the same to River.

"We can't let him get to her first!" John shouts suddenly, hitting the chair as he does so.

"I'm sorry, _we_?" Detective Williams asks from the doorway. "No offence mate but the three of us," there's the swish of fabric, indicating that he is gesturing to his fellow officers as he speaks, "are going to deal with this. We're trained professionals" his voice softens as he begins to walk towards John, "look clearly you and River have, something. Frankly I'd rather not think about that," he adds in a slightly disgusted tone before he goes on, "but you have to let us do our job. This is what we do, everyday. Save people, and the three of us know River better than anyone. We'll get her out alive John"

He claps John on the shoulder in what he obviously intends to be a gesture of goodwill. John in contrast sees it as blatant refusal to help.

"She gave me the message, led me to you! That must mean something!" He can't just sit by and twiddle his thumbs waiting for them to somehow bypass their chief Inspectors orders.

"John" Amelia begins, her voice full of regret. "She led you here so that we would know that she needs us, that's all."

"So I'm the dog that leads you to the child at the bottom of the well?" John retorts bitterly, standing up. "Yes, maybe you know River better than I do, but when it comes to Harold Saxon, no one knows him better. No one!"

The years of anger and rage that have built up seem unable to contain themselves. He's not quite sure what River brings out in him but he's aware on some level that it's necessary to feel something. All those years when he felt numb, lifeless, avoiding emotion like it was a plague. It all seems like a waste now. Life was meant to be lived to the fullest, and River's would come to a screeching halt if he didn't intervene.

"River _needs_ me" he says in a low voice, appealing more to Amelia than to anyone else in the room as she seems the the most likely to give in. "I can't let her down"

There is a moment of silence in the room and John is tempted to sneak a glance at the redhead. Before he can however she replies in a hushed tone, "This is more than love, isn't it?"

John pauses, mulling over that thought. _Is this love?_ He questions himself. He'd never been in love. With Rose it had been, well, complicated to say the least. He'd never tried to define them. He had no idea what love felt like, before today he would never have considered falling for someone. But then this wasn't just any woman was it? No, River was the only mystery in the life of a man who read other's lives on their faces. And, above all, she had saved him.

"I owe her my life" John mumbles, shuffling awkwardly. He's not used to owing a debt to anyone.

He hears Amelia's sharp intake of breath. "Oh John." She sighs.

"Are you kidding me?" Detective Williams yelps from his place by the doorway. Clearly he was not buying any of this. John doesn't blame him, he's obviously very protective of River.

"Shut up!" Amelia retorts angrily.

"He's going to put us all in danger, he'll put you in danger!"

With a start John realises what should have been blatantly obvious from the beginning, that Rory Williams is madly in love with Amelia Pond.

"Shut up!" Amelia cries again, her voice wavering. "He's coming with us and that's final." "Oh come on!" Rory cries in frustration, a sudden thud follows quite soon after, indicating that he has just lashed out at a nearby bookshelf.

"Captain" He barks, appealing to the other man who hasn't moved from the desk. "You agree _right_?" He lingers on the last word as if he is not altogether sure that the other man dies in fact agree with him.

"Actually," Jack begins in a slightly amused tone, his accent emphasising the word, "I think we should take him with us. Never know, he could prove useful!"

Rory let's out a low hiss in response but says nothing.

"Thank you Captain" Amelia calls out triumphantly over the top of him.

It's clear to John that Jack is someone of great importance. Both Amelia and Rory hold him in high esteem, certainly much more so than they do Octavian.

"Thank you" John murmurs quietly, nodding in Jack's direction.

He can feel the other man's eyes on him, " Don't mention it. Although, if you wanna thank me properly you could let me buy you a drink sometime."

"You're on duty Captain!" Amelia reminds him in a disapproving tone.

Jack chuckles in response as John fidgets with his sleeve nervously. "Doesn't hurt to try does it?"

"Yeah something tells me he's not gonna go for it mate." Rory replies from the doorway. Jack snorts, "I'm definitely his type, I mean, River and I are pretty similar." He stops to take a breath, only to have Amelia interrupts snidely, "yes we're all aware of how much you and River have in common." She makes a gagging noise before addressing John once more, "right, let's go"

John gives a start in surprise, "Just like that, no plan, no back up..."

"And nothing to lose" Amelia finishes for him.

"Except River" Rory reminds her in a grim tone.

There's a moment of silence between the four of them, each not wanting to consider the possibilities.

"We'll be fine, Harry boy is like what, late 40's? We can take him" Amelia finally breaks the silence with a tone that she no doubt believes to emit confidence.

John hears the door creak open again, followed by the _clomp clomp_ of three different sets of shoes.

"You coming?" Jack asks, his tone neutral, unreadable.

"yeah, yeah of course" John grins in reply as he strides towards the door.

Unable to see people's faces has given him the ability to notice details otherwise missed, but Captain Jack Harkness, he thinks to himself, is as much of a mystery to him as River is.

The navy coat he wears is no different to one that many other man might wear. The boots are standard issue. No labels or telltale sign of the terrain he has walked upon or the trials he has endured.

Jack is a mystery in the life of John Smith, and before today, that would have made him an impossible thing.

* * *

contrary to John and Amelia's expectations, it is in fact several hours before they can make any attempt to save River from her husband.

_Husband._ The word lingers on John's tongue like a bad taste, refusing to be spoken out loud.

In the four and half hours that John sits idly in Amelia's car, waiting for a suitable time for her to escape Octavian's notice, he begins to realise that the name River Song might very well be engraved on his heart.

Stupid really, he scolds himself. Clearly she is far to dedicated to pursuing justice to consider any sort of relationship. And even if she did, why would she want someone like him?

Before River he had thought himself to be something, a cursed something sure, but still significant. Now, well what was he now?

With a start John stumbles upon the obvious, he can be anything. His curse no longer defines him. John smiles to himself, drumming his hands on the dashboard of the small Toyota. He hums under breath as he watches the shadows outside dance across the light given off by a lamppost.

Amelia promised him that she would be back as soon as her shift was over. He believes her, she's far to sincere for him to doubt her and he's spent enough time deciphering hidden messages in people's voices to grasp her anxiety. She cares for River. John can relate and so he stays put, grudgingly so.

Tucked under the handbrake is a folded paper bag, the remains of a Spanish doughnut that the redhead had rather forcibly insisted he eat. Next to this is his fourth cup of coffee for the day. Three more than he had planned on drinking.

Life is full of twists and turns, his mother used to say.

In the time he has to mull over his thoughts John thinks of his mother often.

She always hoped to see him live a normal life, meet someone, get married, buy a house, have children. Didn't every mother?

He wonders what she would make of all of this.

John has no time to dwell over this new idea however for in the next second a sharp rap at the window is bringing him to his senses.

"oi raggedy man, open the door!" Amelia's strong Scottish accent demands of him impatiently.

John gives a start of surprise as he leans over and opens the door for her.

"Raggedy?" he asks in mild offence.

"have you seen yourself lately?" She replies coolly.

John winds his threadbare scarf tighter around his neck, huffing as a frown settles over his features.

Inwardly he questions his attire. To Amelia there is obviously something fundamentally wrong with his dress sense. What does he look like? He's never really cared before today.

Amelia seems oblivious to this internal battle, her body twisting so that she can glance outside the window. "Rory and Jack will follow us" she informs john.

"Amelia" John begins to say, intent on asking just how she plans to rescue her colleague. Instead he sees her hands shift from the steering wheel to wave him away, "it's Amy" she says sharply.

"what's wrong with Amelia?" John asks, startled. "That's a brilliant name, Amelia Pond. Like a name in a fairytale!"

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees her red tresses waving. "Amelia Pond died when her parents did. It's Amy now." She replies in a cold voice before John hear's the key turn and the car roars to life.

There's silence between them as Amy pulls the Toyota out of the car park and onto the street. _The Fairytale seems well and truly over for her._

He doesn't ask how or when her parents died. Instead he reaches over tentatively to put one hand over hers, giving a gentle squeeze before he quickly pulls away. He'd forgotten before today what it felt like to have contact with other human beings.

Amy sighs, "thank you John" she says, her voice thick.

John nods.

Nothing more is said until they are on the main road, the car screeching as it rounds the curb, barely able to keep all four wheels on the ground. John grits his teeth, one hand clutching the seat belt draped across his chest. The other hand is on the dashboard, nails digging into the plastic.

Detective or not, Amy has zero tolerance for speed limits.

"Do you always drive like a maniac?' John howls over the sound of the wind rushing past the open window.

He hears her chuckle in reply as she changes gear, "Only when I'm in a rush" she replies.

"do you know where they, I mean, where River lives?" John asks, refusing to mention the name of the man they're determined to stop.

"Sure" Amy replies offhandedly, "everyone knows the Saxon Estate." Her voice hardens at the name.

"Estate?" John asks, hands balling into fists.

"oh yeah, Harry boy has quite the set up. Wait till you see it" Her tone has a bitter chill to it.

John squirms in his seat, fighting the urge to punch something. He's thankfully distracted by the sound of a Peruvian folk band. Frowning, John looks down, his eyes landing on a small flashing phone shoved dangerously under the handbrake from which the music is issuing.

"Get that would you?" Amy asks carelessly, "it's probably Rory" she adds with a tut.

John grins, reaching down to take the phone. His hands freeze as he spots a single name flashing in the corner. "It's River" he chokes, quickly pressing answer and putting the phone to his ear.

"Amy?" River's voice asked and John's heart plummets as he hears her voice crack, deep racking sobs issuing from the other end of the phone " Amy, I just. I wanted you to know" she falters and John presses the phone tightly against his ear, his fingers curling around as he waits for her to go on, ignoring Amy's cries of, "what's she saying?"

When River next speaks her tone is carefully controlled, calm to the point where John begins to believe that he must have imagined the panic in her voice, "that I'm absolutely fine. Sorry I haven't called these past few days. I know how you can worry but I've been so busy, so don't worry about me or _anything_." The strain on the last word is what alerts John.

"River!" Johns hisses, "It's me, It's John"

"John?" she repeats incredulously,

"Listen I don't have time to explain, is Saxon there?" John cuts across her, closing his eyes and trying to block out the voices in his head that tell him it's already too late, he'll never get there in time.

"Why are you..." she begins to ask, only for him to practically shout over the top of her, "Is he there with you?"

The phone goes deathly quiet on the other end. John panics,"River!" He cries, hands waving erratically as if he can somehow catch her attention that way.

"yes." He hears her reply in a low voice. "yes, he's here"

"we're coming to get you." John answers back in a final tone.

"don't" she replies softly.

"Too late" He growls back.

"Good bye John" River sighs.

"Don't you dare!" John roars back into the phone.

There's a scuffling sound on the other end before John is left listening to an insistent beeping.

"NO!" John screams, angrily, his fingers clumsily sliding over the keypad as he tries to call her back. The phone rings once, twice, three times before someone picks up.

"River?!"

_"The person that you are trying to call is unavailable_..." A woman's cool metallic tone begins to say before John hangs up, throwing the phone onto the back seat as he hides his face in his hands.

"WHAT'S GOING ON?" Amy demands.

He doesn't reply immediately, his thoughts to jumbled together for him to formulate a response, if he dares to pull one delicate thread he's afraid the others will give way and the last thing he wants to become is a sobbing mess in front of a woman he's only just met. Especially if it's over her friend.

"she wants our help" He says at last, words muffled by his palms. He drags his hands away, rubbing his face to clear away any tears of frustration that linger there. "she's just too bloody stubborn to ask for it!" He finishes angrily, punching the headrest of his seat.

Despite the situation he senses Amy's disapproval, confirmed as she clicks her tongue. John ducks his head, "sorry" he mumbles.

The tension dissolves under a gentle chuckle, "No, it's fine, I understand how you feel"

She pauses to gather her thoughts, and, doing a better job of it than John, she begins to explain, "I'm not sure she knows how to ask for help. I think leaving you that message was her way of letting us know that she needs us."

How alike they are, John thinks to himself, both so adamant that they will go to their graves today and yet searching for that elusive silver lining.

"She doesn't need to ask" He croaks, "I wont let her die"

* * *

The Estate is large. A vast expanse of perfectly trimmed hedges and rose bushes leads visitors to a 3 meter terracotta fountain. Glancing at their surroundings John can't help but wonder if there is a God. Amy pulls the car to a halt in front of the oak double doors, cursing Harold under breath.

John hurriedly unclasps his seatbelt, throwing it over his shoulder as he lunges for the door, only to be pushed back forcibly by Amy.

"We wait for the others" She growls, what little cheerfulness she had draining away in one sentence.

John gulps, nodding as he settles back into his seat.

It's barely a minute until another car pulls up quietly behind them, but it's the longest minute of his life. A thousand possibilities rub through his head, scenarios conjuring before his eyes that have nothing to do with the curse. Pure imagination has him running a cold sweat. What if she is already dead? What if she dies right in front of him? He can't tell what is worse anymore.

Beside him he hears the click of Amy's gun, the sharp intake of breath before she speaks, her voice low and hoarse, "they're here, let's go"

John doesn't need to be told twice. He leaps out of the car, joining Amy on the other side as he glances up at the house in front of them.

A grey-green building looms solemnly over them, shrouding the nearest hedges in darkness. There are 8 arched windows in total, all of which are barred. An ornate looking padlock also halts their entry.

" It's more of a prison than a house." He hears Jack comment from Amy's left and John silently agrees.

"here, you'll need this" the other man says, addressing John now. Suddenly a bulky object hits him on the side of his face, nearly throwing him to the ground. He manages to stay upright somehow, clutching the object in his finger tips.

He runs his hands over the material, a garment unlike any he's felt before. John glances down at the object in his hands. The word POLICE is stitched across the back in white cotton. It's a bullet proof vest.

John hastily shrugs the vest on as Rory begins to debrief them, "Seeing as we have a _liability_," He pauses and John has the nasty suspicion that the other man means him, "We've got to do this carefully, Amy, you wait at the back while Jack and I get the door ope..."

Out of the corner of his eye John sees a dark blue coat whip up the stairs towards the front door, Amy's heels, (entirely inappropriate given the circumstances) hot on its trail.

"Why does no one listen to me?" Rory hisses through gritted teeth. He turns to the only person left in his vicinity, "You! Stay here!"

He only just manages to spit out the words before John breaks into a sprint, following the other two. Behind him he hears Rory let out a strangled cry of exasperation.

* * *

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